


Find Me Waiting

by islandgirl_246



Series: Just You and Me [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Angst, Coping, Death, Family Loss, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl_246/pseuds/islandgirl_246
Summary: Just after 3 p.m. they finally sat down to “lunch” or whatever one would call it at that hour.There were stupid grins around the circular table as eyes shifted between the cake that looked just a tad lopsided; the cuttings of turkey that were just a bit too dry, a fact but about which nobody cared; the potato salad that was more like creamed potato (definitely Derek’s doing) – but everything smelled heavenly.“Let’s say grace,” Stiles announced. He still had a bit of flour on the end of his nose that Peter refused to allow anyone to tell him about. It made him smile each time he looked at him. “Dad, you wanna take this?”“Sure.” John reached out and took Erika’s hand on one side and Derek’s on the other.





	Find Me Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> **PLEASE READ THIS before proceeding!!!**
> 
>  
> 
> OK, so I know angst is not something everyone can handle, so please take care if talk of death and loss of loved ones upsets or triggers you. For that reason I’ve made visible effort to create separate breaks in this story. (part 1) is John and Peter conversing while Stiles is out of the apartment. The conversation is frank and about both their losses and poor coping mechanisms in some cases. It’s emotional. If that’s a trigger for you, please please skip to (part 2).  
> (part 3) gets dicey again emotionally, especially for Laura and Derek who talk about losing their family, but also has comments from others. Please take care. 
> 
>  
> 
> **  
>  So essentially there are four sections – the emotions/angst are in parts 1 and 3.  
>  **

(part 1)

“Does it always hurt?”

The question didn’t surprise John. He and Peter were sitting out on Stiles’ balcony, watching the lights spread out across the city as night fell splendidly. The nightscape in “big cities” still amazed John. He loved it, but wouldn’t give up Beacon Hills for it. Peter sat near, both their feet stretched across a nearby table; Peter with a scotch in hand, John with a beer. From this high up, the sky was a collage of blistering white stars and far away planets.

Stiles had popped back out as soon as they’d come in from the restaurant. According to him, he wanted to “run a few errands”.

“Yes, it does,” John was frank about the pain of losing someone. He brought the bottle to his lips to centre himself. “People lie about that. It always hurts. But as time goes by you don’t just remember the pain of them being gone or how you lost them, you start to remember the good times too. The laughs, the hugs, the vacations, family time, the lovemaking . . .” John petered off, looking at his son’s boyfriend. “Well, the lovemaking in this case is just mine.” He smiled loosely. “What’s really on your mind, Peter?”

“If we, I mean Stiles and me, if we do this long term . . .” his mind swam with his confession that day and his eyes dropped to the glass in his hand as he spun it between his fingers, pausing, “Is it really fair to him? I’ve got so much . . . so much in here,” he tapped a finger on his chest and head, “and sometimes it doesn’t always come out in, I guess in constructive ways. The anger; the emotions; I throw things . . .”

“So does he,” John snorted. “It’s a thing to behold, that temper of his when he lets it rip. And I think you are well past the ‘if’ stage of your relationship at this point. You’ve said the L-word. There’s no way in hell he’s letting you go now. You can decide how much that horrifies you once you see the look he gets in his eyes about babies . . .

“But look, Peter, it’s not like Stiles has had it easy either. I loved my wife. Claudia was kind, fun-loving, a prankster, a risk-taker. I mean, I’m a cop and I’ve seen a hell of a lot standing on this badge, but she . . . she made my hair stand on end sometimes with the things she did. As a deputy, each time one of the other officers dialled my cell, the only thing I could ask was ‘What has she done now?’ That was the type of woman she was. Believe me, he got it all from her.

“And as much as I loved her, Stiles adored her just as much. So when things started to get bad, when she stopped being kind and loving and started acting out, my seven-year-old son,” John paused, took a breath before he could continue. “ _My son_ thought it was his duty to lie and protect her. He said not a damn thing about when she kept him out of school or took him out early to go on a day trip, not even when he saw her throwing up and she said not to tell. I was a mess trying to hold things together, or at least that’s what I told myself I was doing, keeping the finances flowing, working myself into a stupor, being there for everyone else’s problems because those were things I could control. I couldn’t control the fact that my wife, his mother, was dying.” John exhaled roughly, suddenly choked up.

“When she left us it was hard on both of us. But I forgot for a while that he was in as much, maybe even more pain than I was. He’d been there with her, saw every stage of her deterioration. He should have been too young to understand any of it, but he did. To my everlasting shame, he did.” John turned painful eyes on Peter, and the lawyer swallowed at the depth of despair he saw there. “There are things I could have done differently, especially for Stiles’ sake, but I didn’t. I couldn’t see it, and for that my son suffered. I’ve spent near 20 years trying to make up for that last month with Claudia and those first two years without her when I was a shell of the man I should have been.”

“John, I didn’t . . .”

“No, you need to know,” he swipe roughly at his face and the wetness there, “and you better believe my kid won’t tell you much of it, least of all my failings, without being pushed. He still protects what people think of me all these years later; cause I failed him, but I can’t fault the man he turned into despite me and how badly I did in those first two years. He turned into someone that makes my heart near bust each time I look at him. There’s so much of her in him that sometimes it’s hard to look, but I force myself to because he deserves that much, and so does she. I love that boy and I know my heart would stop beating if he ever left this world before me. So you better take care of my boy, Peter Hale, cause I own more than a single service pistol.”

The last attempt at some humour allowed Peter to breathe again. He hadn’t meant to make John relive it. But in the back of his mind, Scott’s words replayed, as they had increasingly the closer they drew to Thanksgiving tomorrow. _Was it inevitable that he would end up hurting Stiles?_ He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he did. But November into December were never a good months for the Hales. Today into tomorrow were always especially maudlin dates for Peter. He hoped starting new holiday rituals would help, this time.

“Laura is so much like her – her mother, my sister, Talia. She’s stubborn, confident, has such a big and giving heart. But sometimes even the sound of her footsteps in the corridor of the office . . . she walks like her – same pattern to her steps, and sometimes for a moment I have to stop and think about where I am when I first hear her tread. And Derek is still filled with so much residual anger. I don’t know how to help him now, either of them. How to reassure either of them that they can find someone to share their lives with. All they remember is that they lost their father and then nine years later their mother and sister were gone.”

“But you were there. You are still here. From everything Stiles has told me, you stepped up, Peter. Do you know how many people drown in their grief and are unable to help anyone? Your first concern was for your remaining family – and Stiles got that straight from Laura herself. She told him that the day you disappeared from the courthouse with that case with the little girl he went out and raised money for. Laura explained why you took that as hard as you did. You see, even back then my son only had eyes for you, Peter Hale.

“I think better than anyone, he understands you and you him. As a father looking on, I couldn’t ask for more. I know when the chips are down you’re going to stick it, be there to hold him up, and he’s too stubborn to be anything but the same for you when you need it. Be happy for that. And if I can see it, believe me, so do your niece and nephew. Maybe you moving on will give them permission to do the same.”

They both heard it at the same time. The front door opening and closing, followed by, “You guys won’t believe how crazy it is out there, like Oh My God. I almost got into a fight over ingredients for the turkey stuffing and a tin of cranberry sauce, you wouldn’t believe.” Stiles’ monologue picked up and continued into the kitchen.

Peter got up and pressed a hand in thanks against John’s shoulder as the elder man tilted the beer bottle back, draining the last drop. “Want another?” Peter asked collecting the empty as Stiles’ conversation still continued to drift over them from inside.

“Maybe a juice. I think I’ve had my beer quota for the evening, first with that sinful steak dinner and now this one, but if he’s got apple juice in there, I’ll take that. If not, don’t bother yourself.”

Peter nodded and left the man to his late evening thoughts.

++++++

(part 2)

Laura was the first to arrive Thanksgiving morning with Erica in tow. John was the one to answer the door and tried to relieve the ladies of some of their load. There were divine smelling, covered dishes – _warm bread pudding_ , maybe – and bags of stuff.

“You must be John,” one of them that he guessed was Laura said. She grinned and stuck out a hand to him. He could see the resemblance in the eyebrows and the cheekbones. “I’m Laura Hale and this is Erica Reyes, Peter’s assistant.” Yup, the Hales were gorgeous people. John smiled.

“Nice to meet you both. I’m John. Those two are in the kitchen, kicked me out good and early.”

The one named Erica chuckled as if the thought of the two lovers in the kitchen was the biggest joke she’d heard yet today. “Happy Thanksgiving, John,” she said, instead of whatever it was that rolled around for a moment behind those beautiful eyes of her.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you both.”

They huffed bags onto the kitchen island and counters. Stiles, who was already talking a mile a minute, barely paused to pull both girls into a hug and then into the kitchen proper, giving them tasks. In minutes everyone was in aprons and there was laughter and good natured banter flowing from the wide area.

John sat and watched as Peter glided around the three – pressing an occasional kiss to Stiles’ neck or cheek when he said something naughty; flicking Erica’s nose just to hear her hiss in annoyance and issue another threat, and squeezing a hand to Laura’s neck to encourage a smile out of her. It all made Joh smile in return as he sat and sipped his coffee, while doodling with the crossword in the paper and occasionally issuing instruction when it seemed one of the young people was going a little off with the process for one of the dishes or got distracted.

The smells were mouth-watering.

It was close to an hour when the doorbell rang again. John pulled it open for a second time and barely held back the sigh. _Yeah, the Hales were unfairly beautiful people._

“John,” he said, moving to help Derek with one of the six-packs and the bag with what was surely two bottles of wine. “Derek,” came the gruff response.

As he was about to close the door, a voice called out, “Hold it, John!” He pulled the door back to find a grinning Kira there.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she bussed a kiss to John’s cheek, turned and froze, swallowed and stared.

John chuckled to himself. “Kira, this is Derek Hale. Derek, this is Stiles’ friend Kira Yukimura.”

Derek’s mouth was hanging open and he seemed to have forgotten he was holding three six-packs in his arms as the tips of his ears turned red. Peter stepped around them with a roll of his eyes but a grin on his lips. “I’ll take those.” And relieved Derek of his load. The younger man staggered for a moment when the weight was removed.

“Hello to you too, nephew,” Peter drawled, moving back toward the kitchen. Kira blushed and Derek licked his lips, cleared his throat and uttered a, “Hi,” to Kira.

From there things got rowdy, but in a good way. Flour coated nearly everything in the kitchen (Stiles’ doing), people bumped into one another, there were happy arguments about inconsequential things; and John’s heart swelled.

Just after 3 p.m. they finally sat down to “lunch” or whatever one would call it at that hour.

There were stupid grins around the circular table as eyes shifted between the cake that looked just a tad lopsided; the cuttings of turkey that were just a bit too dry, a fact but about which nobody cared; the potato salad that was more like creamed potato (definitely Derek’s doing) – but everything smelled heavenly.

“Let’s say grace,” Stiles announced. He still had a bit of flour on the end of his nose that Peter refused to allow anyone to tell him about. It made him smile each time he looked at him. “Dad, you wanna take this?”

“Sure.” John reached out and took Erika’s hand on one side and Derek’s on the other.

 “Let’s pray. Lord, I thank you for these people around this table this Thanksgiving Day. You know it hasn’t been an easy road that brought us here. We’ve all had our issues the past years but we’re trying to build something new, starting today and so far I don’t think we’ve done a bad job with it. I thank you for the family and friends here and I pray for healing and new beginnings . . . Oh, and please bless our stomachs, you know, just in case . . . Amen.”

“Amen!” the chorus was accompanied by giggles and Stiles shaking his head.

++++++

(part3 – _tear jerker warning_ )

“Before we eat,” Peter spoke up, “there’s this thing we used to do in our family . . .” he cleared his throat. “We used to say what we were thankful for and I’m thinking this is as good a time as any to revive the tradition. I’ll start.” He took a breath.

“I’m thankful I can still wake up every day knowing I have a family. I’m thankful for Laura always backing me up and growing into a woman I know her parents would be proud of; for Derek who makes me so damn proud of what he’s achieved in his career and I wish the same in his personal life; for you Erica who is always my fierce warrior and Kira, for being the one person Stiles can always count on. I thank you John, for creating this marvel of a man, and for giving me perspective. And you Stiles, I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be than next to you.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss against Stiles’ stunned, opened lips.

Laura decided to go next, thanking everyone for coming and John and Stiles for opening their home to them for the holidays, as well as for new introductions. “And finally, to you uncle, I have the biggest thanks reserved for you. When Derek and I lost everything, you stepped up. You didn’t have to. There were certainly enough extended relatives waiting in the wings, but you saw their greed. You recognised that all they saw were dollar signs and not two scared kids with insecurities and who were in so much pain they didn’t know where to put it. You were there, for the late night tears, the tantrums,” her eyes lifted to Derek and her brother quickly dropped his gaze, “and for the healing. The process continues.

“But then, Stiles came. And in the last two years we’ve seen you turn into the uncle we remembered before mom passed – the smiles, the goofy grins and laughter. Thank you, Stiles. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for our family. Thank you.”

Before anyone could get too much more choked up, and just as Peter rounded to hug his niece tight, Erica cleared a choked up throat. “I want to thank you all for inviting me. Thank you Laura for being my friend, especially when I most need one. Thank you Peter for believing in me and what I could do even as a temp when others looked down their nose at my lack of education back then. For helping gain more and more qualifications over the last four years. For just being you, _pain in the ass_ that you are and all of it. Thank you.” Peter rolled suspiciously reddening eyes at her and shared a shaky smile.

“I think my prayer covered most of it. But thank you kid, for being the man you are. I tell you all the time but it will never be enough. I’m so damn proud to be your father. And you did good kid. Your mother,” John swallowed. “Your mother would be proud of you too and of the choices you’ve made in your professional and personal life.”

“Thanks dad. I love you.” Stiles whispered.

At Derek’s deer-in-the-headlights gape, Kira quickly spoke up, “I can go. When Stiles came to Boston I didn’t have many friends, or really, any friends. I could actually count my acquaintances on one hand. He taught me to trust people, but to be wise in the choices I made. I’m happy that an accidental coffee shop spill has resulted in all these years of friendship. And thank you all too . . . Today, was fun.”

Derek swallowed and Kira squeezed his hand beneath the table and quickly let go again. “I was three when we lost dad. Most times I can’t remember much about him except for a vague feeling of someone holding me. But I’m not sure if that was dad or you, Peter. When we lost mom and Cora, I wished I had died with them and for a long time I wanted to.” This time Kira squeezed and didn’t let go. Derek was grateful. “But you, uncle Peter never gave up on me. You made sure I went out for sports in high school and college; came to my games even when I know you should have been at the firm. You were there for Laura and me in ways we can never repay. But over the years we worried about you and didn’t know how to fix the things that broke when mom died. I think Stiles started to do that for us. And this,” he blew out a heavy breath, “this is good. In case you don’t know it, I love you uncle Peter.”

John reached out and squeezed Derek’s other hand as the young officer dripped with tears. Peter got up and went to drag his nephew into his arms. It had been such a long time since Derek had said those words to him. Not since Cora.

“I love you too, Derek. So much!” The table gave them a minute, dabbing at their own eyes.

“I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean for this to turn into a cry-fest, honestly,” Stiles croaked. “I value all of you, even if in different ways, and what we did today was good. Derek is right about that. More than anything, I’m thankful for family in all its broad shapes and contexts. Everyone keeps thanking me for Peter, but I thank Peter for being himself. For the support, the arguments, the sex . . .” Peter resumed his seat.

“Kid,” John exclaimed, face scrunching. “TMI!”

“Sorry, dad,” but he grinned. “For showing me how to be a mature adult about a lot of things. For allowing me to talk about mom freely in a way I didn’t even realise I needed. And for opening up to me about his own life and challenges.” His eyes met Peter’s and he saw such love there. He couldn’t not return it. “I love you, Peter. And if you’d never knocked me off my bike that day, I think it would have been the most unfair thing ever to happen in the history of my life, because I thank the universe every day for that bit of bad luck that led me to you. I love you. I love you so much I scare myself with it sometimes. I’m in love with you and I’ll keep saying it until some of that pain fades from your eyes.”

A tear rolled down Peter’s cheek. And Stiles kissed him, long and deep.

When John felt it was venturing out of the PG arena, he smacked a hand to the table. “Have a heart and wait til your father isn’t watching, will you son?”

Stiles’ already deep blush turned redder, as he pulled back from devouring his lover. “Sorry.” And this time he did look contrite about it.

++++++

(part 4)

Lunch after the thanks, reminiscing and confessions was filled with laughter, just as the preparation for the meal had been. And after they sat around, stuffed and made fun of each other; told funny and embarrassing stories – Stiles had tonnes and tonnes of them.

Later they walked out onto the balcony, glasses, bottles or just water in hand and watched the night fall around Boston.

Laura walked up and leaned against Peter’s shoulder and he slung an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “Thanks for what you said about mom being proud of me,” she whispered to him. It was still one of her insecurities – the need to be the perfect daughter.

“She would have been. You are exactly like her, you know, in so many ways and I’m proud of you too. And you know, it’s ok to let loose occasionally and to want to settle down at some point. I know I haven’t been the best example, but you don’t have to be like me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Peter. Yours just hadn’t slammed into your car yet. You were just waiting on him to find you,” his niece grinned. Peter glanced over to where Stiles was sitting quietly talking with Derek and his dad. Derek it seemed had a new hero, especially after all the tales John had of his experiences over the years. Beacon Hills wasn’t nearly as big as Boston, but damn it was an active little town.

Peter also saw how Kira’s eyes never ventured far from where Derek was, even as she sat laughing and making frightening friends with Erica. That relationship Peter knew he’d reap the “rewards” of later, and he could only sigh about it.

The doorbell rang and Stiles jumped up. “Oh, must be Lyds. She said she’d stop by if she could.” His lover rushed off to answer the door and returned with Lydia Martin who carried a bottle of red in her hands. Introductions were made to the Hales she didn’t know and the evening settled once more, with Peter this time rueing the fact that Erica also had now met Lydia. _Where had he gone wrong to deserve this?_ Laura moved to join the other three girls and soon they were gabbing like old girlfriends.

Stiles came out from the kitchen and handed Lydia a glass of red then moved over into Peter’s arms. “Not a bad day at all, right?” Stiles grinned up at him, linking his arms behind Peter’s neck.

“No. It all went quite well, despite the fact that I thought Derek was gonna blow up the kitchen at one point,” Peter smiled.

“Heyyyy, I heard that!” the man in question called out.

The girls were the first to move back indoors as Peter’s arms circled Stiles’ hips, and minutes later Derek and John did likewise. Everyone knew what was coming.

“They are sooo not subtle,” Stiles laughed.

“Neither are we, love.” Peter kissed him. Stiles moaned into it.

“God, I love you,” the bespeckled young man told him yet again when they came up for air and Peter’s heart sang. “We are so far from what this was supposed to be.”

“Regrets?” Peter’s voice was soft.

“Absolutely none. I mean, today . . . we started something new today.” He glanced to where he could see everyone through the glass doors, sitting around in a group, talking and laughing, with his dad gesticulating wildly – no doubt another Beacon Hills tale. Derek’s eyes were wide with something looking vaguely like hero worship. “And it feels good. Who knows, next year we may be even bigger.”

Peter smiled at that because without realising it, Stiles had just indicated that they were indeed in it for the long-haul. It was music to Peter’s ears and he kissed him just because he could.

“Soooo, I was thinking . . .”

“Uh oh,” Peter grinned at him but Stiles’ face remained serious, which sobered him a bit. “Thinking about what?”

“When was the last time you took holiday?”

Peter frowned. He seldom took holiday. Hadn’t taken holiday, officially in years. Occasionally he took a day here and there, and in December . . . well it wasn’t quite holiday as it was just that the office knew not to expect him during the last two weeks of the year. Theoretically speaking, he guessed that could be termed his holiday, although he’d been continually fighting with HR about the fact that he was entitled to six weeks a year and barely managed to accumulate three week out of office in any given year.

“So, how about we go away in December. Just the two of us?”

Peter swallowed, he’d been afraid of this. “Go where?”

“A friend owns a beach house in Barbados. He said this year he’s taking his family skiing and if I wanted I could have it, or rather we could have it. I don’t have anything schedule until after January,” Stiles didn’t mention that this was deliberate because he’d told Finstock and Hayden he would not be available again til after January. He’d known at the time it was because of Peter. He just wanted to be there, in case . . . “If you like the idea, we could take off.”

“Stiles, I’m not sure I’ll be good company in December.”

“Which is why we should go. Look, Peter, you were there for me about mom and since then we’ve had so much going on we barely get to spend real time together other than our nights and some weekends if one of us isn’t working. I’m not trying to change you,” he pressed a hand to Peter’s chest, “I promise I’m not. But I would like you all to myself for a bit. No phone calls about work, no emails, no one of us rushing off because something came up – just us, together. Just you and me. You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to. You don’t have to spend every waking minute of the time with me, but I want to be there for you. Let me.”

Peter nodded, closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer. He brought his forehead to Stiles’ and just held him there for a bit, hands tightening against Stiles’ hips. Despite the fear thumping in his chest, Peter slowly nodded again, reaffirming that yes, he could do this; he would do this, because Stiles asked.

“Ok. I’ll make the arrangements and sort it out with Erica.”

“Ok. Now stop talking and let me kiss you a bit.”

Stiles giggled as Peter did just that. Within minutes it was hot and smutty and so not PG as hands began to roam. Panting Stiles asked, “Think it will offend anyone if we went to bed early?”

“I don’t know that I care,” Peter responded, “but you’re going to need to give me five minutes.”

“What!? Why?” Stiles moaned at the prospective delay.

“Because darling, if we walk into that apartment right now, it’s going to be very evident everything I want to do with you, and very visibly so.”

Stiles looked down and gasped. “You’re not wearing underwear again?” But the surprise soon turned to glee – evil, wicked, smutty glee.

And that’s when Peter grabbed both Stiles’ hands in his. “No, no you don’t.”

Peter’s lover pouted, though he’d acquiesce to Peter’s request, but only because he loved the man. Once he got him into their bedroom however, all bets were off and he refused to be embarrassed if it resulted in screams throughout the rest of the night. And not necessarily his. Their family and friends would have to deal.

The thought left him grinning and Peter sighing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it to the end, thanks for reading and I hope you read the early warning. As usual, would love to hear from you guys. The next one is going to be a little fluffy. I think we need it after this emotional wringer.


End file.
